


37. “You’re super cute.” “You’re super drunk.” “Doesn’t make you any less cute.” Hawke x Varric

by Amata_Hawke



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Canon Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Rare Pairings, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 14:18:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amata_Hawke/pseuds/Amata_Hawke





	37. “You’re super cute.” “You’re super drunk.” “Doesn’t make you any less cute.” Hawke x Varric

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lylypuceonarchive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lylypuceonarchive/gifts).



“Another round,” Hawke called with a lopsided grin, standing up from the table and waving her tankard in the air. “Your finest Hinterlands whiskey for everyone, on me!”

An approving chorus of “Hawke!” swept through the Hanged Man as the barmaids bustled around, taking used cups and plonking down fresh ones. Isabela lifted her mug with a nod of thanks in Hawke’s general direction from her place at the bar. Hawke barked a laugh and plopped cheerfully back into her chair by the fire, turning her gaze on Varric. “Go on then, Varric! I bought you more whiskey. Tell us, what did Donnen Brenko… Brenno... what did Donnen do about all these Dragon’s Jewels?”

Varric couldn’t say no to that deal, or to those smiling blue eyes of hers. He launched into the next chapter, telling of dead sailors, the charming and deadly Belladonna, and a cloth-wrapped package. 

Hawke kept the wine and whiskey flowing right up until last call that night, and Varric kept spinning his tales—more to her than to anyone else in the whole bar. Varric could see what she was doing, and it worried him. Hawke could hold her liquor with the best of them, but she rarely drank to such excess. She did love his stories, however, so he told her as many stories as he could think of. Romance, horror, drama; she followed them all eagerly.

At last call, Varric wrapped up the last tale—a bawdy story about a drunken king of Orzammar and an ill-advised Proving. When he finished, the laughter of his crowd faded out into cheerful chatter and the patrons began to filter out of the bar and into the midnight chill of Lowtown’s streets. Hawke hopped up from her chair to leave with the others, but she wobbled on her feet as soon as she let go of the table. Varric saw what was about to happen and hurried to her side, taking her hand to steady her.

“Easy, Hawke,” he said softly. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink tonight.”

“Nonsense,” Hawke scoffed, but her grip tightened on his hand. “I’m fine. Just need to get back to Gamlen’s shithole and sleep.”

“Oh, I know,” Varric shrugged, tugging her gently toward the stairs, “but humor me. You know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got shanked in an alley somewhere because I kept you up drinking all night.” The words came out with his usual light-hearted tone, but they were true. 

“I can handle myself in a fight,” Hawke grumbled good-naturedly, He led her up to the rooms in the back of the tavern. She went willingly enough, leaning on him every few moments to keep her balance. Varric chortled.

“Pirates and back-alley brigands, sure. What about your mother?”

Hawke went quiet at those words. Varric glanced up at her to see her eyes had gone hollow and her smile had faded into an unhappy frown. She bit at her lower lip absently and stared ahead blankly. Varric shifted his gaze away before she could see him looking, releasing her hand to unlock and open the door to his rooms. He pulled out a chair for her at the table inside and guided her into it before going back to shut the door. She huffed a humorless little guffaw.

“Mother is hardly likely to shank me.”

“After what happened with your brother? I wouldn’t be so sure.” Varric brought over a spare tankard and the pitcher of water he kept by the window and joined her at the table. He filled her cup for her and she took it with a small nod of thanks. She took one long drag at it before putting the cup down, staring into it like it held the answers to the universe.

“I shouldn’t have let him come, I know,” she said softly. “We haven’t heard anything from him. For all we know, the Wardens couldn’t save him. And Mother…”

Varric reached across the table and took her free hand in both of his. She looked up at him, startled blue eyes meeting his. “It wasn’t your fault, Hawke,” Varric said seriously, holding her gaze. “Junior wanted to go. He’d never have forgiven you if you’d left him behind.”

Hawke seemed to search his eyes for a moment, then looked away with a frustrated sigh. “You’re right, he wouldn’t have. But Mother… it’s like when we lost Bethany, all over again. Without knowing whether he’s alive… I’m not sure if  _she'll_ ever forgive me now.”

Varric tightened his grip on her hand, trying to draw her eyes back to him. He hated to see the sadness in them. “Look... I have some contacts that trade with the Wardens sometimes in Orzammar,” he began. It worked; Hawke looked up at him sharply. She winced and brought her free hand to her head, pinching at the bridge of her nose. Varric continued. “I’ll write to them and ask them to send word if they get any news about Junior. If he’s alive or dead, we’ll know.”

Hawke dropped her hand from her eyes and stared at him. She shook her head, a low laugh bubbling up from her chest. The sound of her laugh was one Varric would never grow tired of. “Varric, you are truly a wonderful, kind, very well-connected man.”

Varric laughed along with her and released her, sitting back in his chair. “What can I say? I told you it would be worth your while to work with me.”

“That you did,” Hawke said, smiling at him. “You know what else? You’re probably also the most handsome man I’ve ever met.”

Varric felt his ears start to burn. “And you, Hawke,” he replied, raising an eyebrow skeptically, “are well and truly hammered.”

Hawke threw back her head and laughed again, her carefree smile lighting her face up again. Varric was secretly pleased to know that she was smiling because of him.

“I might be drunk, Varric, but you know it’s true! Handsome, wonderful, kind, and a fantastic storyteller. Best mate a girl could ever wish for, honestly. How did I ever get so lucky?”

Varric shook his head amiably. “You should sleep Hawke. Before I start to take you too seriously.”

“So take me seriously,” Hawke smirked at him with mischievous eyes. Varric had to admit that he was sorely tempted. She was beautiful in the dancing firelight. Her blue eyes sparkled like turquoise; the curve of her cheek, flushed from the alcohol, looked so soft and warm that he wanted to reach out and feel it for himself, to see if she was as pleasant to the touch as she was to look at. If this were one of his stories, he knew where it would have gone. He also knew that in real life, drunken nights spent together rarely ended well. He chortled to himself, and stood up, pointing Hawke in the direction of the bedroom.

“Go sleep, Hawke. If you still want to shower me with complements in the morning, I promise you, I’ll be all ears.”

“You’d better be,” Hawke said, grinning at him. She stood up, still a bit unsteady on her feet. “What about you?”

“I’ve got the couch,” Varric replied, gesturing at the back room where the comfortable furniture was. “Now go on.”

Hawke chuckled again and headed off to bed while Varric made himself comfortable on the couch. He listened to the sound of Hawke snoring from the other room, and drifted off into dreams of blue eyes, raven hair, and laughter around the fire.


End file.
